


Star Power Over Me

by Pilandok



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Drama, Light Angst, Love Triangles, M/M, Mild Smut, References to Drugs, Unrequited Love, non-au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-07 17:18:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13439550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pilandok/pseuds/Pilandok
Summary: Trixie, Violet, and Katya find themselves in quite a proper love triangle.(A revision of the story I submitted to artificialqueens with the same title.)





	1. Boyish Charms

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is the revised version of an ongoing fic I submitted to artificialqueens. Thank you for reading!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Violet thinks he's attracted to where Trixie Mattel and Brian Firkus overlaps.

Trixie Mattel has made a shining example of how to get the most out of the spiritually-exhausting, completely unhinged, over-produced reality show of the one and only, larger-than-life RuPaul Andre Charles. So he’s not crazy, he swears, when he spotted the goddess herself sending him a proud smile from the third row of the audience in Peaches Christ’s stage show starring him and Katya. _I’ve made it_ , he was thinking then, lip-syncing Waterloo in  full clown make-up, cinched dramatically and padded for days. He made a comeback in All-Stars 3 and had just finished filming for their TV show on Viceland, and then there was RuPaul smiling, laughing, applauding at him, living for his comedic timing and ad-libs.

Trixie was glowing because knew he worked hard for it; he was one of those queens who knew to work hard immediately after getting kicked off. He couldn’t have been a fan-favorite forever by just being himself, he isn’t warm or charming or the right kind of self-depreciating. He worked hard: laughing through the pain and embarrassment of getting kicked off twice, worked hard in Provincetown performing five nights a week sleeping on a cot on the floor, and worked hard for his merchandise to sell. The meticulous planning, scheduling, and insane work hours was all worth it, he thought, and sometimes he thinks: _it has to be._

What he never expected to happen was to end up as one-half of one of the biggest couple in Drag Race herstory. Trixie didn’t even consider it beforehand, despite what people might think, but it worked in his favor so well that he almost wishes that he thought of it himself. Trixie and Katya. Everyone loved them and ate them up. Their chemistry was electric, and they were both having fun with it, he didn’t even mind that it was obviously Katya who was the more likeable of the two. Trixie enjoyed that they’ve been made into a package: getting booked to the same gigs, being given the same opportunities, their names incomplete without the other.  Suddenly, somehow, they were the next big bankable thing after _Shalaska_.

But then suddenly, stupidly, and obviously, he fell in love with his best friend. Trixie was a classic romantic but he fell in love with that chain-smoking, slow-splitting, Russian-accented addict anyway. He was a romantic and Katya doesn’t even believe in love; he thinks that all relationship problems can be solved through polygamy. Trixie fell in love anyway—and it’s probably cause he _is_ a romantic. It’s a painfully unrequited love but one that he has been oddly at peace with, having learned to enjoy Katya’s unbridled affection while playing his part as the rational half of the two.

 However, sometimes, like when he drinks, his mind creates problems for himself. He wonders about the lasting effects of keeping his feelings at bay on his mental health and if when the bubble of their partnership bursts, it could be that his feelings are going to be at fault. Trixie wouldn’t be able to handle that. That’s why he shouldn’t drink.. cause he- he- creates the problems in his head and he--

“Damn bitch, oh my god” Violet interrupts him, having just been the recipient of the slurred, rambling version of everything stated above, “I knew you were a talker but you just keep droning on and on, shut the fuck up.”

Trixie smiles, a wide grin showing all his teeth, his glassy eyes revealing just how buzzed he truly is. He and Violet Chachki are on the floor of Trixie’s hotel room, a bottle of whisky between them, most of which has been consumed by Trixie. He pouts and raises a finger accusingly at Violet, “Bitch, I know you only invited me to drink just so you can finally get in my pants.” Violet laughs and doesn’t deny the charge. Trixie raises the bottle directly in front of Violet and smiles his full smile again, “your fans are great, by the way,” he says, slurring all his Rs.

“You know it, cunt,” Violet replies, laughing at his companion. Despite the rambling, Trixie is a fun drunk. Violet doesn’t think about the weight of the things Trixie said nor its implications because they are both laughing through it all.

“I’ve slept with Katya,” Violet remarks casually, “it wasn’t that big of a  deal.”

“AHHHHH you cunt!” Trixie screams out laughing and slaps Violet’s knee, “I’m not a slut like you! It’s love, I’m in love!”

“Oh shut up you cheesy whore,” Violet is laughing too. He moves closer to Trixie who was sitting cross-legged in front of him, he watches as Trixie leans back to rest his weight on his arms. He tilts his head up, still having that smile on his face. He appears to be staring at something on the ceiling or at nothing at all.

“You know, I _may be_ trying to get you to fuck me but I don’t know if sitting through this pity party is any good for my sanity,” Violet says contemplatively, “ I’m deciding if the effort is worth the reward.”

“What’s your verdiiict?”Trixie drawls. He looks at Violet with the same grin that Violet is starting to think is flirtatious.

“Depends, is it working?” He flashes a smile of his own.

“You know me,” Trixie winks “I’m a sssucker for any gentleman who will lend an ear to my troubles.”

“Ugh. You’re so problematic.” Violet rolls his eyes but finds himself strangely charmed by Trixie. Or Brian. It used to be that Trixie liked to keep those two entities separate, with their own distinct paths and their art. Somehow, however, Brian found a way to be seen by the public: sneaking himself out through Trixie’s guitar, through his lyrics, and through the slight tremble in his voice when he sings _that one song_. Before Trixie even noticed it, Trixie and Brian were existing simultaneously on stage. He’s more comfortable now, too, in switching between the two characters, and it’s starting to feel less and less like two characters. Violet thinks he’s attracted to where Trixie and Brian overlap.

 He pulls his knees to his chest and rests his head on his knees, he sighs dramatically at Trixie, “okay, whatever, spill your guts out.”

Trixie looks at Violet and for some reason thinks him to be very endearing at that moment. He remembers a boy from his high school—an old best friend who would sit on his front porch and share whatever bottle of alcohol they could get their hands on. _Brian, you talk too much_ , he would say, but listens to his problems anyway. Violet reminds Trixie of him: a little bit guarded with no filter. And also very cute.

Getting lost in his thoughts, Trixie bites his lip and stares at the boy in front of him. He sees Violet raise an eyebrow at him and he feels compelled, suddenly, to give him a quick chaste kiss on the lips. He does so, and in stumbling slightly when he reaches over, he misses by a centimeter.

Violet laughs, “You weirdo!” but he leans in and gives Trixie a proper kiss in return. Trixie gives him a starry-eyed smile when they pull away. Violet murmurs, “you’re so fucking cheesy.” They both laugh and start passing the bottle between them again.

A couple of hour pass and Trixie finds himself is kissing Violet again, harder this time, more purposefully. Violet’s tongue slides into his mouth, hot and tasting of alcohol. Trixie decides that he likes how it feels and leads them to the edge of the bed. They don’t have time to discuss matters such as the issue of top and bottom in the midst of this turn of events.

Violet can’t help but push Trixie onto the bed and kiss him hard against the mattress. He doesn’t know what possesses him to but he sucks on the skin above Trixie’s collarbone to leave bruises on his neck and sinks his teeth lightly on the flesh. When he pulls back to check his work, Trixie was looking at him very shy but very much turned on. Violet wonders why tonight Trixie was being so _fucking adorable._

“Words I’d never thought I would hear from Violet Chachki’s mouth,” Trixie breathed, face flushed and hips grinding almost involuntarily.

“Shut up,” Violet replies but then he’s laughing again.

In a few minutes Violet is kneeling on the bed, hovering over Trixie, their underwear long since discarded. He’s as hard as a rock. The atmosphere of the situation ceases to be humorous for Violet. because he realizes _is he really going to top Trixie Mattel?_ The inebriated body writhing under him has just confessed his love for Katya, a close friend to them both. Conscience, an old friend that has never once visited him in the bedroom is nearby in that moment, whispering in his ear. He pauses, doubt filling his mind about the mental gymnastics he’s  performed to frame this situation as something that was okay. Trixie seems to have noticed this hesitation and pulls on Violet’s arm to bring his face close, he kisses him slowly.

“Hey, it’s okay, I want this,” he tells Violet quietly as if his knees pressed up against his chest and his dick hard against Violet’s wasn’t already saying the same thing. Then, in a needy voice, “fuck me.”

Violet groans as he snaps himself out of his thoughts and coats his dick with the lube his fans gave him during the show. He spares a moment to think about how he _does_ have the best fans ever. He finally thrusts himself inside Trixie. Despite his initial coaxing, Trixie lets out a sharp gasp in surprise.

“Fuck,” Violet moans, his voice strained in a way that makes Trixie worry that he was going to stop. Violet shows no signs of slowing down but Trixie snakes his arms around his neck anyway and pulls him in for another wet kiss.

“Yeah, fuck fuck fuck, yes please,” Trixie continuously moans into Violet’s mouth until they both reach climax. They collapse onto the bed right after, breathing heavily on top of each other.

Violet thinks for a second about returning to his own hotel room which was a couple of doors down the hall. He can’t think of what he’s supposed to do after what has just happened. He doesn’t know if he should stay, he doesn’t know if Trixie wants him to stay.

Trixie, however, is already pulling him into his arms.

“Come on, this is my favorite part,” Trixie says, half-yawning. His eyes are already closed.

“Gross, you’re so sappy,” Violet replies but he settles under the covers nonetheless.

He finishes making himself comfortable and sees that Trixie has already fallen asleep. Violet rests his head on Trixie’s chest and idly thinks about his next show. His scheduled flight the next day isn’t until later in the afternoon. He wonders when Trixie’s flight was going to be because he wants to stay in. Violet doesn’t ponder about that odd thought.

He feels a slight rumble come from his sleeping friend and instinctively grabs his phone from the bedside table and aims the camera at Trixie. He was deliberating on a good caption—maybe,   _Adult Barbie now comes with vibrating function._ He is smiling at the footage he just took and realizes that it might not be such a good idea to broadcast this out to the public with Trixie looking a little freshly fucked. He feels an urge still, however, to tell someone about this, to report this new inconsequential information that he discovered about Trixie Mattel. Katya and Pearl are the first ones to come into mind but that was obviously out of the question, the former especially—Violet also thinks, bitterly, that maybe those two would already know about Trixie’s sleeping habits.

He watches the video a few more times, thinking of who would appreciate this breakthrough. Eventually, he gives up, shoving the phone under the pillow, but not before typing _Trixie Mattel snores when he sleeps_ and saving it as a note on his phone. He settles himself in bed with his back against Trixie and reaches around tug Trixie’s arm around him. Trixie murmurs lightly but wraps his arms around Violet’s frame. After a minute, he’s snoring again. Violet closes his eyes and lets the low droning lull him to sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fanfiction has about 6 chapters and I've already written five of them. To clarify slightly on the timeline of this story, it begins at around November 2017 and goes on for a few months (so it actually goes beyond the present time I was writing this story.) Boyfriends don't exist in this fic. Thank you for reading!


	2. She Knows How To Make Love To Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Violet is so fucking sexy under any circumstance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, thank you for reading this chapter. On the issue regarding pronouns, I use female pronouns when they're in drag and male pronouns when they're out. So yeah, get into the fluidity of gender. Also, this chapters features Jinkx-y who I love. Thank you for reading!

Trixie is surprisingly casual about everything. Violet thought that when the alcohol subsides, Trixie was going to start freaking out. He was half-expecting to be awakened by a shell-shocked Trixie demanding explanation to their actions.

Unexpectedly, however, Violet wakes up to an empty bed and a note on the table: _Early flight today, sorry I can’t hang. Love you bitch. Xoxo T._ His handwriting is a lot less legible than Violet thought it would be.

After reading the note, he takes a moment to gather his things before beginning his journey back to his own hotel room. Practically stumbling out of the door, Violet isn’t exactly hung over, it’s just that he’s not a morning person at all; he prefers to start functioning at noon.

He’s surprised when he spots Trixie in the hallway, a few paces from the door, talking on the phone. For his part, Trixie doesn’t look hungover at all, not even a hint of exhaustion on his face.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m about to leave, yeah. I’ll be there on time, don’t worry,” Trixie says, nodding his head idly, then he looks up and sees Violet. He smiles, making a gesture with his hand, telling Violet to wait for him. Violet nods groggily, rubbing his eyes. He waits for Trixie to finish his call but he isn’t sure exactly why or what for. The time of his phone reads _8:13 AM_.

“Hey sorry,” Trixie apologizes when he walks over to Violet, “I have an early flight.”

“Mhm,” Violet answers, still not fully aware of his surroundings. Trixie appears to be amused at this.

“Here,” Trixie hands him his half-finished cup of coffee, “I drank some already but it’s still warm and you look like you could use some.”

Violet accepts the cup from Trixie and takes a sip. It seems to take effect immediately and he wakes up little. He stares at Trixie and wonders what he should say.

“Have a good flight,” he settles with that.

“I will. Go get some rest already, you look like you _really_ need it,” Trixie says playfully.

“Don’t be rude,” Violet grumbles. Trixie laughs and leans in to kiss him on the cheek.

“See you, bitch.” Trixie leaves for the elevator down the hall and Violet watches him until he turns the corner. Violet then continues his trek back to his room, calculating how many hours of sleep he can get before he has to get ready to leave.

* * *

After the incident, Trixie and Violet haven’t given much thought to the night they shared together, chalking it up as another odd incident in the string of bizarre events that is a drag queen’s life. Stranger things have happened. And of the sexual encounters they’ve had, this one wasn’t half bad,  in fact, it was a lot better than they could have imagined. Though apart from the slightly sexual undertones of the increased amount of texts they’ve been sending, nothing has changed in their friendship.

Weeks pass and Trixie and Violet have all but forgotten about that night. It wasn’t until a month later that Trixie and Violet see each other again. It was on a typical Drag Race night in a club in LA: which means promoters have booked a few Ru girls along with usual array of local queens, hoping to get more traction in their scene.

Trixie and Violet have finished their number and are in the dressing room, waiting for the call to do the meet and greets. The club provided them with cocktails and both queens accepted them graciously, situating themselves on the couch in the dressing room with their legs folded underneath them a la Untucked style. They spend the first few minutes reenacting iconic incidents from the series before falling into an easy conversation teetering towards flirtation.

Halfway through the drinks, Trixie realizes that they have been unconsciously closing the gap between them with every burst of laughter and linger of an innocent touch. The other queens weaving in and out of the dressing room eyes them with suspicion and Trixie’s not sure if she has been noticing this, choosing ultimately to brush off the stares. Violet appears to be completely oblivious and swings her legs over Trixie’s lap.

“I think one of your balls is about to pop out,” Trixie comments, pretending to take a peek.

Violet slaps her shoulder lightly, “Nothing you haven’t put in your mouth before, bitch.”

“Don’t be gross!” Trixie answers, her screaming laughter echoing in the dressing room.

“Oh my god can’t you laugh like a normal person? You, your psycho scream is fucking— “

Violet is interrupted by a loud creak of the door.

“Well well well, who do we have here?” Jinkx interrupts having just entered the room. She closes the door behind her slowly. “Why, aren’t you RuPaul’s Drag Race season 7 winner Violet Chachki,” she takes a small bow towards Violet then turns to Trixie, “... and All Stars 3 winner, I suppose?”

Trixie smiles meaningfully and shakes her head, not giving anything away.

“Aww, not even a tiny hint?” Jinkx pouts.

Trixie tilts her head slightly in mock-consideration, “Well…”

“Ahh! Don’t tell me,” Violet presses her hands over her ears, “No spoilers!”

“Sorry, Jinkx,” Trixie smiles at her apologetically, “you heard the lady.”

“Boo,” she answered, plopping herself down beside the pair on the couch. Trixie and Violet watch in fascination as she pulls out a joint and a lighter from her bra. She winks at them before lighting the joint and taking a long drag from it. She offers it to them.

“No thank you,” Trixie declines.

Violet takes up the offer, however, and inhales deeply while looking straight at Trixie. The air suddenly feels thicker, Trixie thinks, though she isn’t sure if it’s from the smoke or from the way Violet was looking at her. Violet holds the smoke in for an extra moment before parting her lips slightly to let the smoke ascend on its own. She licks her lips afterwards. Trixie doesn’t look away.

Violet then hands the blunt to Trixie, looking at her expectantly. Trixie looks at it warily but takes a hit of her own. She doesn’t think she can refuse Violet.

Jinkx observes this interaction with great interest. When she’s handed back the joint, she holds it between her middle and index finger like a cigarette.

“The youth… is wasted on the young,” she begins dramatically, “oh why must the universe inflict upon us such cruel ironies? When I see you two young, beautiful ladies,” she continues, turning to the pair, “flirting without consequence, the bubbling sexual tension not a premonition for troubles to come… oh to be young! If only this aging carafe can receive a taste of young flesh once more.” She lets the dramatic silence fall over all of them.

“Jinkx, you’re like two years older than me,” Trixie deadpans. Jinkx begins to stage-weep melodramatically. Violet looks at her perplexed and Trixie tells her, “forget it, once she gets into character, we can’t do anything about it. You should see her with Sharon or Alaska.”

“Time, the merciless mother of us all!” Jinkx starts again. “Only a kiss from the fountain of youth can bring these—”

“Jinkx.”

“—these wasted, decrepit, rickety bones— “

“Jinkx Monsoon.”

“—moldy, sagging, sinewy, discolored, putrid, decomposing—”

“Jinkx!”

“—only a— mmph”

Suddenly, Violet reaches over to grab Jinkx’ face and pulls her into a firm kiss.

“Oh my,” Jinkx reacts afterwards, she widens her eyes comically and covers her mouth with the tips of her fingers. She and Violet look at Trixie expectantly.

“Oh fuck it,” Trixie says then gives Jinkx a kiss too.

Jinkx burst into a maniacal cackle, “you fools!” She stands up and walks slowly around the room, “you’ve let me absorb your energy, I now have the power!”

Trixie and Violet roll their eyes, amused by Jinkx’s antics. They hear someone call them for the meet and greet and Trixie gets up to leave then turns to reach her hand out to Violet. She takes it. Jinkx is still in the middle of her spectacle and the two drag queens giggle at her as they exit the dressing room hand in hand.

The meet and greet is over soon enough and Trixie offers Violet a place to stay for the night. Both of them leave the club in full drag. Arriving at her apartment, Trixie heads straight to the shower, leaving Violet to stand awkwardly around her room. It isn’t a lot different from the other LA queens’ bedrooms, she notes, sparsely furnished, and still looking a little brand new. Various drag paraphernalia litters the room following a trail leading to what Violet guesses is a walk-in closet. Trixie’s room differs in that it also houses a few guitars and other unfamiliar folk instruments. On a table, sheets of papers are strewn, covered in Trixie’s familiar handwriting. Violet makes an attempt to read them but the it’s even more illegible than before. From what she can discern, Trixie has been writing some new songs. The instruments along with the bright pink walls of the room makes Violet feel like she’s in a space where both Trixie and Brian have learned to coexist.

Violet hears Trixie start singing in the shower.

“Work, work… mm... I am a professional, work…” she recognizes Shangela’s song and tries not to think too deeply if this counts as a spoiler. She walks towards the bathroom door and finds it unlocked. She lets herself in as Trixie switches to singing an unfamiliar folk song.

“Trixie,” she calls.

Trixie stops singing to respond, “Vi? Need anything?”

Violet doesn’t say anything, instead she removes the pink silk robe that Trixie lent her to cover up her usual burlesque drag. She has her own clothes but in the club Trixie and everyone else laughed at seeing her wear their robe because _oh wow, baby pink does not suit you at all. You look like a grandma prostitute._ Violet decided to humor them and kept it on. She hangs the robe on a hook then takes off her heels, stockings, corset, and the rest of her lingerie and lays it down carefully beside the sink. She pulls the shower curtain to the side and Trixie jumps in surprise—she was in the process of lathering her face with make-up remover.

“Jesus Christ. I’ve seen _Psycho_ , Violet,” Trixie says then proceeds to rub her face.

“I’m not the one looking like a melting clown, bitch.”

Trixie lifts a middle finger to her and steps to the side, giving Violet space to climb in. Trixie turns on the shower to rinse. Violet borrows the make-up remover and starts working on her face.

“Fuck, bitch, are you trying to boil your skin off?” Violet comments at the temperature of the water. Trixie aims the showerhead at Violet and she squeals, cursing at Trixie who chuckles but then turns the heat down. Trixie, now washing himself with soap, can’t help but steal glances at Violet’s naked body. Their close proximity conjures the memory of their night together and it’s making Trixie even redder under the warm water.

“Shit, I got some on my eye.” Violet reaches blindly for water and before Trixie helps her, he allows himself to shamelessly stare at Violet’s body. And really, _Violet is_ _so fucking sexy_ , he thinks, under any circumstance.  He finds his hand was reaching out to touch his chest. “Bitch, water!”

Trixie, flustered, quickly hands the showerhead to Violet. But he couldn’t resist eyeing the water as it travels through Violet’s form; from it splashing onto his face, sliding down to his chest, and falling between his legs.

When Violet opens her eyes she sees Trixie, now completely make-up-free, looking at him with a shy smile on his face. “What?”

“You’re so skinny,” he remarks.

“What?”

“Pretty and skinny.”

“What?” Violet is just beginning to understand the atmosphere of the situation but he notices that Trixie is looking at him hungrily. Violet instinctively basks in this attention, and the compliments Trixie has been paying him adds to his delight.

“So pretty,” Trixie breathes.

Before he can say anything, Trixie pushes him against the wall and starts kissing him harshly. Violet recoils against the cool tiles of the bathroom but pulls Trixie closer to him, responding hurriedly. He’s surprised at Trixie’s erection rubbing against his leg and it stimulates his own budding one. Trixie’s hands slide down from his neck, scratch his chest, and trace down his stomach. One wraps around Violet’s cock and begins tugging slightly, the other follows the shape of his ass and teases his asshole. Violet groans and pushes Trixie off.

Trixie is horrified for a second, ready to race to an apology when Violet turns around and presses his ass against Trixie’s dick. Trixie feels a fire ignite in his gut, seeing Violet bent over in front of him, both hands on the wall to hold himself steady.

“Say it again,” Violet says tensely.

For a moment, Trixie is confused, but then a pleased smirk slowly spreads on his face.

He leans in to whisper, “you’re so skinny and you look so pretty.” He angles the tip of his penis against Violet’s entrance and hears Violet whimper. The sound sends pulses of pleasure to his erection. He gives himself a moment to be impressed by the animalistic desire Violet Chachki’s sounds ignites in him before leaning in again. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispers, pushing his cock inside.

* * *

 Later that night, Violet, asleep on Trixie’s bed, stirs awake to the sound of a guitar being played. He squints and sees Trixie on the other side of the room hunched over the table, writing fervently on paper with a guitar on his lap. He strums on the guitar again.

“ _You ain’t quite the Barbie/ but you’re such a doll/ Should I spoil myself with sweets? / I’ve never had the gall / to be having this much fun/ am I allowed to jump the gun?_ —no, _”_ Trixie stops abruptly and scratches on the paper, “not right,” he mumbles. He plays a different chord with the last line.

“Sounds better,” Violet remarks. Trixie jumps in surprise and turns around. Violet can see him blushing slightly at having been caught. “Are you writing a song about me?” he teases, half-asleep.

“Oh, uh…” Trixie stutters nervously. Violet smiles.

“Come here,” Violet instructs, yawning, “play me something.” Trixie carries his guitar over to the bed and sits cross-legged on the mattress. Violet rests on his side to watch Trixie. “You look butch.”

“Bitch,” Trixie replies automatically and plays a few test chords.

“No country, please.”

Trixie looks slightly offended. “But all my songs are country.”

Violet shrugs in response, “then play something that isn’t yours.”

Trixie huffs, “fine.” He pauses for a moment to think then starts plucking a few tabs on his guitar. Violet hums in approval. Trixie begins to sing.

_“Spinning dreams with angel wings_

_Torn blue jeans, foolish grin_

_Burning down in the night_

_So cool, so right_

_Star power, star power_

_Star power over me_

_She knows how to make love to me_

_She knows how to make love…”_

Violet begins to drift off to sleep, the soft guitar echoing in the room.

_“Close my eyes and think of you_

_Everything is black and blue…”_

Trixie’s voice is heavy, leaden with something Violet doesn’t pick up on. But it makes him dream a blur of visions—of blonde Russian acrobats, bleached white teeth, and cigarettes on red lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lyrics at the end is from Star Power by Sonic Youth. Other lyrics featured here and in the future are mine. Thank you for reading!


	3. Christmas Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trixie wonders 'why now?' It's as if something is about to happen-- like everything is coming to a head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you for reading!

That wasn’t the last night Violet spent at Trixie’s place, their sleepovers frequenting with Violet opting to stay at Trixie’s whenever he’s in town. Although they haven’t been booked to the same show since. Mostly because Violet’s gig is _for the big boys_ , as he put it, and Trixie’s was, well, for ages three and up. ( _“How many six-year-olds must I traumatize before they learn not to take the name literally?”_

_“Well, six-year-old Jason would have found you hysterical.”_

_“Yeah but kid-Jason would have already been fucked up.”_

_“Shut up! My parents were great.”_

_Trixie didn’t say anything, giving Violet a warm smile. He didn’t realize how Violet interpreted what he said until later, but he enjoyed the extra affection he received that night._ )

From the other side of the camera, Trixie’s phone dings. She shoots an apologetic look at the staff before standing up to go to her bag. They wave her off, unbothered, the interview hasn’t begun yet.

“Well I guess some of us,” she hears Katya from across the room, using the voice she does when impersonating white girls, “aren’t ready for the level of professionalism needed for mainstream success.”

“Bitch!” Trixie calls out, rummaging for her phone in her bag. She adopts the same tone, “I’m sorry, it’s just that my dog’s therapist told me to be in touch whenever my miniature schnauzer undergoes guided meditation.” Trixie turns around and sees Katya flailing her arms while laughing noiselessly, entertained by the thought of a tiny dog engaging in therapeutic hypnosis. Then suddenly calming down, Katya lunges forward with her left leg then rests her arm on her knee; she does the same to the other side, stretching. Trixie watches her for a minute, “You do know that we’re just going to be green screen torsos for this interview, right?”

“Always gotta limber up, mama,” Katya replies, slowly descending into a split, “be ready to run.” She reaches for one foot, talking in-between stretches, “disasters abound,” then the other foot, “my horoscope said so.”

Trixie doesn’t hide her baffled amusement for her partner. She turns back to her phone and sees that the message came from Violet. She cranes her neck quickly to take a peek at Katya (who was still busy stretching) before reading the text:   _Since you asked so nicely, xoxo._ It was followed by a picture of Violet blowing her a kiss with one hand and the other taking the picture through the mirror. She was half in drag, with a full face of makeup and only corset on—and the full length of her penis is popping up in the picture. Trixie can’t stop the surprised laugh that escapes her lips.

“Whatcha got there?” Katya asks suddenly, trying to look over Trixie’s shoulder. Trixie puts the phone down too quickly and Katya squints suspiciously at her. Trixie’s heart rate speeds although she wonders if it was anything to hide. Katya then tilts her head back slightly and widens her eyes comically, “I can see you from my house…” she said in her best Coco Montrese voice. Trixie pauses for a second before erupting in her screaming laughter, raising her hand like she was going to smack the air around her. Katya looks pleased at the reaction she elicited from her friend. “What is it, though? But I guess if it’s from your new All Stars 3 friends, you don’t have to tell me,” she sighs but is giving Trixie a knowing look. Somebody calls them back to set.

“It’s not that,” Trixie says when they start to walk back to their seats. “Do you know how many unsolicited dick pics I’ve gotten since _All I Want For Christmas Is Nudes_?”

“Oh mama, those aren’t unsolicited,” Katya begins, “ever since you’ve released that universal gay mating call of a Christmas song, you’ve doomed yourself to pictures of penises for life. For. Life.” Both of them settle on the stools provided for them. “Catch yourself in 2048 with the intercommunication chip implanted in your brain bombarding your corneas with 4D holographic visuals of mechanically augmented cocks.” Trixie opens her mouth as if to say something but closes them again, not really knowing what she could. Katya continues, “yes, extraterrestrial lifeforms, after decoding your songs, will also participate in the ritual, sending you whatever goopy, tentacle- y, multifunctional version of genitalia they have.”

“Okay,” is the only thing Trixie replies but she’s smiling at Katya who was beaming, proud of the little tirade she went on.

They’re going to start soon, the staff says, and right before the cameras start rolling, Katya leans in to whisper suggestively in Trixie’s ear, “and as for mine, why don’t we just have our own photoshoot in the bathroom later?”

Trixie feels an abrupt rush of blood to her cheeks, suddenly self-conscious, then feels even more embarrassed at her own embarrassment. She shifts uncomfortably in her seat and then scolds herself. Why is she acting brand new? It’s not like she hasn’t seen it, Katya’s—but that was beside the point. She’s been noticing it in herself recently—it isn’t just today—suddenly being conscious of Katya’s touches and innuendos, then feeling a little bit of despair from it afterwards. It’s as if it’s 2015 again, when Trixie and Katya was still a newfound friendship, a duo that only existed for themselves. During those days, Trixie always found herself nothing short of _enamored_ by Katya.

As for the recent influx of consciousness, sentimentality, and melancholy, Trixie blames it on the Christmas season.

“She’s the yin to my yang,” Katya tells the interviewer who hasn’t even asked anything yet, “the wind beneath my wings. She’s my everything. My everything, Kenneth—if she trips in this studio I will be suing this whole building for damages.” The interviewer laughs at this and tries to get a word in but Katya isn’t finished, “and yes, she’s one of the reasons I try to stave off of drugs, and yes one time we almost died in Australia, and yes I helped her make her clothes for All Stars 3,” she says in one breath.

“Oh wow, I guess that’s half of my questions down,” Kenneth says good-naturedly.

“She’s my undonateable kidney!” Katya exclaims, “because in the future I would have already lost my kidney to the _plethora_ of my addictions or to an extra-terrestrial kidnapping. Trixie is the kidney I cannot lose because as you know, human beings need a minimum of one (1) functioning kidney to live a happy life.”

The interviewer looks overwhelmed by all the information unloaded by Katya. He’s seen her previous interviews and knows of her off-tangent rambles and spiraling streams of thoughts but experiencing it first hand was quite something else. Kenneth laughs in amazement and Trixie sees him falling in love with Katya, too—like the rest of the world already has.

“And Trixie, what do _you_ think of Katya?” he asks.

“She’s a’ight,” Trixie shrugs. Katya drops her mouth open and starts flailing her arms at her side.

“You cunt!” Katya screams, smacking Trixie on her thigh, “you putrid, rancid, dirty whore—ahhh!”

Trixie is laughing at their exchange but her mind is racing. _It’s the Christmas blues_ , she thinks, and she hates it. She replays in her head everything that Katya just said and feels a wave of love and gratitude for her partner hit her and she just really _loves Katya_ but then she’s floating in a sea of desperation and hopelessness because she’s _in love with Katya_. And really, hasn’t she already settled this before? Now she’s having difficulty concentrating on the interview with Katya beside her, and Trixie finds it ridiculous, they have been on a tour of many a minor news sites to promote their show and she’s in the exact same place as she’s always been, on the left of the screen.

The worst part is that Katya notices her troubled state and cranks her own energy level up to 150% to make up for what her partner is lacking. She sees that Katya’s been throwing obvious setups for jokes which Trixie can respond with easy punchlines. Trixie’s heart aches.

After the interview, Trixie is in the bathroom de-dragging; Katya usually hangs back for a while, taking a cigarette break and chatting with whoever is there. This time, however, Katya follows her inside a few minutes after.

“Sorry about earlier,” Trixie says as soon as she heard the door open, there was no point in pretending with Katya. The blonde waves her off. “You seem energetic.”

“I’m buzzing,” Katya replies.

“You don’t smell like an ashtray today.”

“Smoker’s breath down, can I have kiss now?”

Trixie rolls her eyes but nonetheless gives Katya a chaste kiss on the lips. Oddly enough, this helps calm Trixie down. Katya situates herself beside Trixie who watches her through the mirror.

“Let’s get something to eat?” Trixie asks hopefully. She sees Katya bite her lip—of course, she’s busy these days, her management is particularly preoccupied during the Christmas season.

“Okay, let’s go!” Katya replies in her chipper voice after thinking.

“Katya—” Trixie starts.

“No no, our friendship doesn’t just exist on screen. This isn’t the _MythBusters_.”

“What?”

“Yeah, that hurts me, too,” Katya says grimly, a faraway look on her face.

They pack up their things and have early dinner at an Italian restaurant near Trixie’s place. Trixie rejects the waiter’s offer of wine because he tries not to drink when Katya’s around. They talk as they usually do about anything they can think of, spending most of the time laughing in each other’s company. Christmas blues or not, Trixie finds himself happy and relaxed during dinner and this seems to dissipate the tone of worry in Katya’s voice.

Katya has to leave immediately after dinner, having skipped out on an earlier arrangement, and says goodbye to Trixie who insisted on shouldering the bill. Trixie watches him go, already busily texting on his phone. Katya appears to sense eyes on him and turns around to wave Trixie goodbye, smiling brightly, his white teeth dazzling. With Katya out of sight, Trixie slumps against his seat, wondering why these old feelings were resurfacing when it’s been a more than a year since he’s made peace with the whole situation.

 _Why now?_ It’s as if something is going to happen, as if everything is coming to a head. The image Violet sent him earlier flashes across his mind but he quickly pushes it away. Trixie shakes his head and calls for a waiter. He asks if they have anything stronger than wine.

         

* * *

        

Violet doesn’t wonder why those queens were looking at him like that—he’s used to it by now. Some resentful glares thrown his way doesn’t bother him usually, he’s prone to it, and later, after his performance, he’s sure those queens will be looking at him with the begrudging respect he deserves. Today, however, it rubs him the wrong way, and he smiles back sarcastically at the queens. He hears them start whispering. Violet continues his walk to the dressing room wondering why he was in a mood. It started in the morning when he woke up feeling very unpleasant, which continued to build up the rest of the day. Now, he was just about to start feeling awful when he opened the door.

“Look at what the rotted, gutted, filthy feral cat dragged in.”

Violet looks up at the owner of the voice and drops his bag.

“Katya!” he shouts, rushing to hug him. “What are you doing here, bitch?”

“They needed someone to fill in a spot,” Katya says after pulling away, “Manila called in sick.”

“What?” Violet asks incredulously, “How does that make sense? You’re more famous than us.”

Katya shrugs, “I guess I really _am_ a filler queen now.”

“Bitch! How many times do I have to—” Violet cuts himself off seeing Katya’s wide grin and white teeth. He smiles back, glad that the unpleasant feeling that’s been accumulating in him is easily erased by the presence of his friend. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“I, too, am glad to be here,” Katya replies, “although those queens outside are a little miffed that the club owner kicked them out for the night to make room for us in here.”

“Ah,” Violet nods, now understanding the animosity from earlier. He is sympathetic to the girls’ plight and vexed towards the club owner.

“Nothing that can’t be brought to light later on stage,” Katya says innocently.

“Would that be a cunt move?” Violet asks with mischief in his voice.

“Maybe,” Katya admits, “but I talked to the girls about it. The crowd here loves their local queens and would hate to know they’re being mistreated.”

“Can’t wait.” If there’s anything Violet loves doing, it’s putting assholes on the spot.

The two start working on painting their face, chatting occasionally, updating each other about their lives, but it’s mostly a quiet affair for Violet. He lets Katya take over the conversation who still, somehow, manages to finish first. Katya puts her wig on and starts making poses on her mirror.

“Mm, I look scrumptious,” Katya comments. She starts sifting through her bag, “wanna live?”

“Sure,” Violet answers, she’s almost done herself.

Katya begins rummaging through her bag more aggressively, “fuck I think I left my phone at home. Can I use yours?”

“Mhm.” Violet points distractedly at the general area where her things should be. Violet proceeds with the motion of her getting into drag. Putting on the outfit is her favorite part, it makes her feel like a sex goddess, slowly sliding into the lingerie. She almost forgets about Katya, who seems preoccupied figuring out the phone, until she needs help with her corset. She turns to call attention to Katya but she is already looking at her with an incomprehensible look on her face.

“Violet, what’s this?” Katya asks her, lifting up the phone. Violet freezes. Katya looks at the screen again “ _Trixie Mattel snores when he sleeps_ ,” she begins to read, “ _Trixie Mattel never gets as drunk as he wants to be. He’s slightly ambidextrous. He wakes up in ungodly hours of the night. He listens to Sonic Youth. He…_ ” Katya trails off, looking at Violet desperately. She knows Katya wants an explanation, but that just might be the one thing she doesn’t have.

Violet crosses her arms in front of her defensively, her default reaction to a confrontation.

“Okay,” Katya says and stands up to pace back and forth across the room, “okay, okay, okay, okay.” Katya stops walking, “Are you fucking Trixie?”

The harshness of the word _fucking_ makes Violet wince but she answers plainly, “yes.”

“Okay, mhm,” Katya starts pacing again then sits down on the chair on the far side of the room but then she looks confused at why she sat down and stood up again, “okay, okay, mhm, I see, okay, okay, okay.”

“Katya,” Violet starts but she doesn’t know what she was going to say after that.

“She’s not like us,” Katya says finally, more affectionate than condescending. “She’s… she’s a romantic. And wants to be in love and all that, you know?” Katya pauses and sees that Violet is still standing guarded. Katya softens her voice, “it’s just that, _Vi_ , I don’t want her to get hurt. And, uh--” Katya purses her lips, thinking about how to say things, “she—she goes all in, you know, and while you may not be thinking about this too deeply, she might you know,” she scrunches her eyebrows, “you know?”

Violet has lot of things that she could say.  She could say that she knows they’re best friends or whatever but it isn’t Katya’s _business_ what goes on between her and Trixie. And Trixie is a gown adult with a rational mind capable of making her own decisions, she can take care of herself. And regarding her own feelings about Trixie… well she _hasn’t_ thought about it too deeply, but that isn’t something for Katya to decide. _And it’s you, Katya, you’re the one she’s in love with_.  Violet doesn’t say any of those things because she isn’t a talker like them, not like Trixie and Katya. She can’t so articulately explain herself in a loveable way like them. What she does know how to do is to say what she’s thinking, and right now she doesn’t know what to think, her mind is still reeling at the feeling of sudden exposure.

“I like,” Violet begins, slow but steady. Katya snaps up to attention. “I like sleeping with Trixie. I mean,” she continues, not really knowing what to say, “it’s great. I don’t know, it’s emotional and whatever, yeah…” Katya doesn’t say anything and Violet adds, almost as an afterthought, “... bitch.”

Katya falls back onto a chair and Violet can hear her labored breathing. Violet moves closer instinctively but she doesn’t know what to do. Katya suddenly grabs Violet’s arm, squeezing tight. She doesn’t pull away because she can feel Katya’s hand shaking. She looks up at Violet, panicked eyes filling with tears.

“Please stop,” Katya says unsteadily. It’s an oddly simple request that is equally insane— and they both know it. Katya keeps talking, “Please not—not Brian please.”

Violet stiffens on the spot, her brain unable to process any command but is strangely aware that this is a very bizarre thing happening right now. She doesn’t even notice the knock on the door calling them until Katya jumps up suddenly.

“I’m coming!” she shouts gaily, betraying no hint of the situation. Katya opens the door and begins chatting with the person on the other side like they’ve been friends for years. She laughs, a laugh that Violet realizes is slightly different from her usual laugh—but not one she hasn’t heard before. Katya’s phone rings but she ignores it. “Yeah, we’ll be ready in a sec,” Katya tells the person. She sighs before turning around to meet Violet’s eyes and the door behind her closes with a soft click.

Katya is looking at her like she’s waiting for her next move, but Violet knows that the ball is in neither of their courts. The next move belongs to the person who’s the center of all this—and by their calculation, he’s on a flight back from Chicago. Violet sighs.

“Can you help me with this?” she asks, turning around in her untightened corset. Katya nods slowly, walking over to her, and helps her sister get ready for the show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Katya's here so now we got ourselves a proper love triangle. This is a chapter that I liked when I wrote it. Thank you for reading!


	4. Violets Don't Make Me Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I knew something happened, Tracy, I'm not an idiot."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This is a Katya-centric-ish chapter. Thank you for reading!

_I knew something was going on before I really knew what was going on. I’m not an idiot. Well, maybe I am an idiot, about a lot of things in fact—but not about you. Not about you, Tracy. I know you and I know you more than anyone else does. More than your boyfriends, more than your parents, even more than Kim Chi. I’m sure about this because Trixie, you’ve talked about all of them at length. During those nights when our jokes start falling flat and we have no choice but to be serious and seriously share stories about our lives. Those quiet nights that started after we finished filming season seven, after I was eliminated, after I emerged from my self-imposed, sex-fueled exile. My first instinct was to call you and tell you how insane I was, because for the most part, you weren’t there to see it (you would have though, in a few months, but I gave you a head start anyway). I called you, and unloaded everything that first night on the phone. And you were laughing, Trixie, at how insane I was, and I was laughing, too. Because it really was hilarious, my crazy. You told me to call again the next night, and I did, for every night after that._

_Then later you would tell me how insane you are. I didn’t laugh then because it wasn’t funny how crazy you were, it really wasn’t. But you made the rudest, vilest, most wretched jokes about it then I_ did _laugh. You make such bad jokes that I can’t ever repeat them and Trixie, you can’t too and that’s a lifelong bond made, mama._

_Let me get back—so I’m not an idiot. I know about you, Tracy, that something was going on and it started that night in that whatever city. I remember thinking “what a weird gig” because why did they book you and Violet only? What? It’s not even a season 7 thing because if it were a season 7 thing, there would have been at least three of you. Like Pearl, or Max. Or me. Maybe I should’ve been there. Maybe I should’ve been there, Trix._

_I knew something happened because you stopped replying at some point and I knew that meant you found trade. But you didn’t tell me about it the next day so I thought that it might be something more serious. You usually keep it that to yourself, at the beginning, if you think it’s going to be something serious. So I waited for a few days, waiting for you to say you met someone. Do you know how many times you’ve told me “I’ve fucking found the fucking one!”? You didn’t, though._

_So I knew something happened but I also know that it stopped happening, for a while, because everything was just kind of normal. But I look back on it sometimes because you never did tell me anything about it and I remembered staring at the bruises on your neck the whole time we hung out that day._

_Then it started happening again, right? It was about a month later and it was happening again. I could tell because I ran the numbers over and over and over and over again in my head. A month later, here in LA, I know but it didn’t stop this time, right? Correct, Tracy? I was waiting, for you to tell me you found the one again. The reason you’re smiling and biting your lip while reading your phone again and why you don’t leave me five voicemails at a time anymore. And why you bring your guitar everywhere again. I was waiting for you to tell me._

_You never lie to me Tracy, but I never asked. I never asked because I was… I don’t know, I felt like I didn’t have the right to? Because I was afraid? Of what? But I just knew that my insides were forming a riot. Why? I also don’t know. I’m full of questions today, as I always am, but usually I have a steady stream of answers. Not today, now I’m all questions and question marks are floating around me like I’m a confused comic book character—which I am. Back then, I didn’t know what I was confused about, and maybe I still don’t know, but at the same time, it was all coming together._

_For the longest time, it didn’t click. Not even when it should have, not even when all the signs were pointing at this glowing marquee of the truth, not even when you weren’t really hiding it. Because you weren’t hiding it, you don’t lie to me, Tracy. It’s just that I never asked. So maybe it did all click before I realized, deep in the cavern of my subconscious, I was just that the echo of the click hasn’t reached me yet. Not even when I saw that picture of that—that—that—admittedly magnificent specimen of male genitalia attached to the equally magnificent Violet Chachki. I still didn’t realize it then!_

_It was that song, that song you’re writing, re-writing, practicing. It has a line there, something like “roses for mean reds, but violets don’t make me blue.” I heard you once, in your room or somewhere, and there’s the click. Though tell me Trix, isn’t that line a little too cheesy, Trixie, even for country?_

_Anyway, It clicked and then Violet, I realized you were with that… you and Violet were that—and then Manila! Manila… Manila was sick, I heard, she will miss a gig and Violet was there and I said I’d fill in. I_ volunteered _. I knew that Violet would be there but that was not… I just wanted to have a little talk with her, though at that point I wasn’t sure if what I was thinking was right. I just needed—I needed to make sure. I was worried, Trix! So I offered my services.  I don’t even know if substituting is something we_ do _, I don’t even know if I got_ paid— _ask my manager_. _I just showed up and… The girls, they were darlings, weren’t they Violet? After we settled that whole conflict with the club they were just_ wonderful _, right? Vi?_

Katya looks at Violet who was standing there at his right and waits for him to agree, but Violet isn’t looking at him, he has his head hanging low, staring at his shoes. Katya turns to Trixie who is looking at him like she was waiting for him to say something. This confuses Katya, hasn’t he been talking this whole time? But then he realizes maybe he hasn’t been talking. Maybe it’s one of those things again, when he thinks he’s saying something but he isn’t. Sometimes he’s sure he’s dictating a clear narrative but what people hear is a whole convoluted, off-tangent version of what was in his head. Katya is sure he opened his mouth at some point, but he might’ve cut himself off—he isn’t sure when he stopped. He isn’t sure what he has said.

The room starts to spin but that’s something Katya’s used to. He exhales audibly and rubs the top of his head, trying to re-orient himself. Trixie is staring at him, an unreadable expression on her face because it’s really Trixie, not Brian, and she’s in full makeup. Katya is not in drag because he isn’t going to perform tonight. It’s not his gig, he recalls suddenly, as if it slipped his mind, it’s just Trixie and a bunch of other queens and they’re staring at him because he just barged in—he wanted to surprise Trixie.

Katya realizes he’s been opening his mouth again, babbling. This happens too, his mouth running before his brain even has a clue. He doesn’t know what he’s saying and he doesn’t know how long he’s been talking but Trixie is crying now, a heaving wail. Katya’s wracking his brain, trying to remember what he said. He couldn’t have said that much already. What did he say? What the hell did he say?

“I love you Katya, I’ve always loved you,” Trixie sobbed.

Katya still doesn’t know what’s going on (despite being the instigator of all of this) but he feels elated, ecstatic, euphoric, absolutely blissful. The words Trixie said are bells ringing in his ears. He wants to jump—he almost does—but then such things for him are followed by a certain dread. A sort of trembling horror begins exploding in his gut. His mind is simultaneously scanning his past and predicting a future following the thread of those words, of the fact that Trixie _loves him_. Alarms go off in his head. He needs to say something, but coherent thoughts elude him. He wants to say something so Trixie would stop being sad. _But_ , he thinks, _but love isn’t—it’s not—it doesn’t exist._

“How can it not be when I’m in love with you?” At this point Katya doesn’t know who spoke the words. He doesn’t know who the words were spoken to, who they are for. He wonders if it came from his own mouth. He looks around the room, trying to figure at least one thing out. He notices Violet again, still with his head down and arms crossed in front of him.

“…and for once, maybe,” Trixie still crying but not sobbing anymore, Katya missed another chunk of the conversation. She sounds desperate and tired, this gigantic almost 6’4” pink Barbie doll trembling lightly, “I felt like I was getting over that.”

This makes Violet look up. Katya watches Violet’s face and it dawns on him that it is as blank as his own. Violet isn’t dressed up and his name isn’t displayed outside. It’s not his gig, he isn’t supposed to be here.

It’s that familiar click, when Katya realizes that Violet had the same idea as him.

A dull throbbing at the starts at the back of Katya’s head and it’s blocking all the sounds. Katya starts talking again, but he doesn’t hear himself. His arms begin to feel heavy, like accessories that have been weighing him down for too long. His arms don’t work, he needs to set them aside. He wants to get out, he needs a fucking cigarette, but he can’t walk out on Trixie. Katya feels sorry. He’s sorry. He’s- he’s made Trixie cry. Trixie loves him. He’s sorry. He loves Trixie, too. Trixie is in love with him. He didn’t know—He’s sorry, he’s so sorry. He wants to redo it—he doesn’t know what. This conversation? This day? Their friendship? He’s sorry, he’s sorry. He’s so fucking sorry—

“Hey hey, Katya hey,” Trixie stops him, holding him firmly on the arms. Katya’s not sure if he can feel Trixie’s grip but it rattles him. He sees tear tracks on her face but she’s giving him a look of concern, “are you high?”

Katya doesn’t understand the question and makes a blubbering sound.

“Katya, are you high?” Trixie asks again, softer this time.

Katya nods slowly, only just realizing that he was. Tears begin to flood his eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me Tracy?” Katya cries, suddenly remembering that he did take something earlier. Before leaving the house, before arriving at the club, before barging through the doors. Something hard—not weed—he can’t remember. His guilt doubles over. Everything is undoubtedly his fault.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m sorry,” Trixie wraps her arms around Katya, stepping down from her heels to close the height gap. For some reason Trixie is the one apologizing and this makes Katya chuckle. It comes out as a strangled noise. “It’s okay now, it’s okay.”

“Why couldn’t you tell?” Katya asks again. Finally his arms work again and he clings onto Trixie. “Why didn’t you realize, Trixie?”

Katya knows it’s a stupid unfair question but it’s something that he can’t help asking. Trixie asks herself that question, too. Why didn’t she realize that Katya was high? At the same time, why didn’t Katya realize that Trixie was in love with her? Why didn’t they tell each other anything? Why didn’t they ask?

How is it, that they’ve let themselves become idiots about each other, too?

These questions ran concurrent in each other’s minds, and upon realizing this, Trixie and Katya begin to laugh—pathetically, desperately—while still crying in each other’s arms.

 

Violet watches them and feels something that both Trixie and Katya actively prevent their friends from feeling when they’re together—like he’s an _intruder_. To witness Trixie and Katya in that moment is to feel no less of anything but an outsider. He clears his throat, not to call their attention (at that moment, nobody could dare to), but to swallow a lump that has been forming at the back of his mouth. He heads out the door.

Out in the hall he sees all the other drag queens lined up against the wall. They have been eavesdropping, obviously, he could tell when they jumped as soon as they saw him. He scowls at them.

“There’s nothing to see here, cunts,” he barks harshly, “nothing for you.” He is glaring as he walks past them, inviting their scorn.

It doesn’t seem to work, though, they look back at him with pity. He catches a glimpse of his heartbreak reflected in their eyes. It makes his stomach churn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From AQ, it seems like people like the third chapter the best but personally I like this chapter the most. This is the climax of the story and I experimented with some storytelling elements and I really like how it ended up. This was supposed to be the chapter where they all lay their cards on the table but it ended up being a Trixie/Katya friendship chapter.
> 
> Also Manila Luzon a ghost that hovers around this story by name hahahaha.


	5. Come Through

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Violet doesn't want to admit how much Trixie has turned him into a sap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This is a chapter for the Vixie fans. The journey is almost over. Thank you for reading!

“So, I hear you’re a homewrecker now, Miss Violet Chachki. And to our power couple, no less.”

“Shut up bitch.”

Violet presses his palms against his eyelids trying to wipe away whatever sleep is left in his system. He’s not surprised that Pearl already heard about what happened that night. News travels fast in their world, and faster than a flight from LA to New York then to Atlanta, apparently.

“So,” Pearl starts, drawing out his vowels, “Trixie Mattel…”

It’s too early for this, Violet thinks, wondering how he managed to let Pearl convince him to get up before noon for a coffee date. He groans and rests his head on the table. He doesn’t know how to begin explaining it to Pearl. He doesn’t even know how to explain all this to himself. After he left the bar that night he jumped into another one and drunk himself silly only to wake up the next day to his manager rushing him to a photoshoot. After that it was off to another state for a gig, then some arrangements to attend to about his calendar, then to a fashion show here, then another one there. He doesn’t have the time to think about it, he swears, and coached himself to put aside thoughts that are distracting him from his job.

He pretends that it works. He pretends that he doesn’t have the image of Trixie and Katya embracing burned at the back of his eyelids, their forms huddled into one shaking mass of vulnerability but also security. He pretends that he hasn’t noticed himself flinching slightly when the song he’s lip-syncing contains the L word.

> _“You can’t—you can’t say those things to me, Katya, not when it’s always been you. You don’t know how it was for me!” Trixie sobs. Violet’s nails dig into his palms, he wants to look up but at the same time he doesn’t want to be there, he doesn’t want to be part of this moment. “I love you Katya, I’ve always loved you.”_

Violet groans again, out of frustration, trying to block the image out of his head, trying to drown out the words Trixie said.

He hasn’t been aware that the people around him have been catching him staring off into space, eyes glued onto an invisible screen as if he’s replaying a scene in his head. They see him wrinkle his brows and clench his teeth like he’s seeing something he doesn’t want to see.

“Is it because of this?” Pearl snaps him out of his daydream. Violet looks up and sees Pearl scrolling through his phone. He reads, _“Trixie Mattel snores when he sleeps…”_

Violet quickly snatches the phone from Pearl.

“Why do you guys keep— seriously, fuck,” Violet huffs and glares at him. Pearl, like most of Violet’s friends, isn’t deterred by this anymore. He shrugs innocently. Violet should have deleted that stupid note.

“I didn’t know he snores,” Pearl comments.

The tiniest hint of a butterfly flutters Violet’s stomach after hearing that. He knows that Pearl is watching him carefully for his reaction but he can’t help the small smug smile that curls on his lips.

Pearl raises his eyebrows, amused.

“I know, I _know_ , cunt,” Violet rolls his eyes, “I have this absolutely _ridiculous_ , embarrassing crush on Tracy.”

“Mm,” Pearl says nonchalantly.

“What, bitch?”

“Seriously girl?” Pearls asks, shaking his head. “You have a crush on me, you have a crush on Raja, you have a crush on _Katya_ for fuck’s sake. _This_ ,” Pearls gestures vaguely at Violet’s phone, “is looking like something else.”

“Since when were you so concerned, bitch?” Violet scowls. He knows that Pearl is right but the thought makes him nervous.

Pearl hums noncommitantly.

Violet is quiet for a few minutes before making an attempt to explain the situation. He finds that as he tells the story, it’s difficult to comprehend the logic of his feelings. It’s like they’ve sprung up too quickly, as if they’ve always been there. At loss for words, he merely reiterates what he had told Katya a few weeks before: _it’s emotional and whatever._

“Hm,” Pearl nods slowly, appearing uninterested as usual, “Why don’t you just be in a happy threesome with the both of them? I mean, you’ve fucked them both, right?”

“I don’t—” Violet answers too quickly. Pearl raises his eyebrows again. “I don’t _like_ Katya like that.”

“Like how?” Pearl asks indifferently, but a tiny twitch at the corner of his lips betrays his mood. Violet realizes that Pearl has been teasing him and in turn, he keeps falling for his ploys.

“Shut up bitch,” Violet says again.

Pearl rolls his eyes good-humoredly but decides not to push. He busies himself with the drink he ordered and whatever was on his phone. Violet stares at him for a while and it strikes him that he’s surprisingly thankful for Pearl’s concern, no matter how downplayed. And with Pearl’s subliminal urging, Violet allows himself to contemplate on the things that have happened. Soon enough, he’s circling around the things Trixie said.

> _“My feelings for you are so immense and so ridiculous, Katya, and for the longest time I thought they were irrepressible. I felt like it was threatening to spill all the goddamn time then I’ll frighten you and you won’t look at me the same. But I did it, I kept it in, I had to, and I thought it was going to be like that forever. But when I was with Violet it was great and—” Trixie cuts herself off. Violet feels his heart stop when Trixie says his name, he couldn’t help but look up. He hears Trixie take a deep breath before continuing, “And for once, maybe, I felt like I was getting over that.”_

Violet had wanted to go over to Trixie right then and there. He wanted to go over and just… touch her or kiss her or something. But Trixie wasn’t looking at him at that moment, she was looking at Katya. At the same time, Katya was looking at Violet, and he was absolutely petrified. Violet wonders if Katya’s expression at that moment was complementing his own.

“Hey Vi, your phone’s ringing.”

“Mm?” Violet hummed distractedly, caught up in his thoughts.

“Your phone, bitch,” Pearl stressed.

Violet looks down and sees his phone ringing loudly, the vibrations causing it to glide slowly across the table. His manager’s name is flashing across the screen. Violet fumbles a little in picking up the phone.

Pearl wonders if he’s ever seen Violet this flustered. Not just in this current moment; Violet has been thrown off balance by this whole situation. Pearl still sees Trixie and Katya together all the time and he supposes that Violet has gotten the raw end of the deal. Trixie and Katya, he thinks, are experts in turning emotional adversary into their favor. The characters they’ve created both stem from dark places in their lives, and really, they’re not even characters. It’s just Trixie and Katya being themselves, transforming pain into their art. Which they seem to be doing now. They’re not the ones wandering about on stage distractedly or missing a line or two during a lip sync.

Pearl thinks that Violet injures like a feral cat.

He sighs and scrolls through his contacts.

**TO: Trix**

_girl, you have to talk to violet_

A few seconds later, a reply comes.

**FROM: Trix**

_I’ve been trying._

**TO: Trix**

_try harder bitch_

Pearl bites his lips, always hesitant about going out of his way to involve himself with other people’s business. But he has seen the rings under Violet’s eyes and sends another message.

_i don’t like seeing him like this. i don’t like knowing you and Katya are having a hard time, too._

**FROM** : **Trix**

_You’re with violet?_

Then almost immediately, another text came as if to remove focus from Trixie’s previous one:

_Oh wow it must be serious if you’re so concerned._

Pearl doesn’t appreciate Trixie’s attempt at humor but that’s also how he knows that the situation is seriously bothering him.

**TO: Trix**

_it is._

The reply takes longer this time.

**FROM: Trix**

_Okay, I’ll call him._

Pearl puts his phone down as soon as Violet ends his call. He looks even more distressed than he did earlier. Pearl opens his mouth to comment but decides against it. They exchange their goodbyes soon after and go their separate ways.

It is only when Pearl was nearing the airport that his phone vibrates again in his pocket.

**FROM: Trix**

_Thank you **.**_

 

* * *

 

 It was around midnight when Violet answers the call.

“Violet,” Trixie breathes, sounding relieved that he answered, “I’ve been trying to reach you the whole day.”

“I know,” Violet tries to respond bitingly although his heart had been jumping to twice its normal rate whenever he saw Trixie’s name flash across his phone screen. He couldn’t bring himself to pick up, however, for reasons he can’t call anything other than childishness. Pearl was right, Violet hurts like a wounded cat.

“I’m sorry Vi, I know I should’ve tried harder. I should’ve talked to you that night,” Trixie rushes, “but the next thing I knew, you were gone and then the other queens said you left…” he trails off, making Violet’s stomach churn thinking about how those eavesdroppers could have described his inelegant departure to Trixie. “But that isn’t—sorry. I’m sorry.”

“I know,” Violet says again, with a little less sharpness in his tone.

The line is quiet for a while, on both sides, and Violet relishes a little on the emanating discomfort coming from the phone. He can imagine Trixie biting his lips and rubbing the back of his head like he does when he’s nervous.

There’s something unexpectedly boyish about Trixie’s charms, and it’s something that Violet is aware he’s been falling for too easily.

“I have your calendar,” Trixie blurts out suddenly, “the new one. It uh—you look great. Beautiful.”

Violet makes a surprised noise but is obviously pleased, “What, how? It hasn’t come out yet.”

“I wanted to see you,” Trixie answers plainly although Violet hears a slight mischievous tone on Trixie’s voice.

Violet laughs, impressed. This seems to ease Trixie’s apprehension.

“I missed you,” Trixie says too easily.

Violet smiles, feels himself slipping again.

“I missed you too, bitch.”

They fall into an inconsistent rhythm of conversation—with lighthearted discussions of isolated topics interspaced by long stretches of comfortable silences. Violet settles in his sheets, appreciating the fact that he’s finally able to lie down on his own bed after weeks of hectic scheduling. He listens to Trixie shuffling about on the other side of the call and feels a tenderness swell inside him. Violet can imagine Trixie laying down on his bed in a room that Violet is missing too. He sees it: the pink walls, the graphic paintings hanging on the wall, various drag memorabilia scattered in his room, and the corner where his guitar rests next to a table with a spread of papers crowded with Trixie’s recognizable scrawl.

It surprises him, the sudden wave of palpable affection he feels picturing the whole scene. At how he finds contentedness in the quaintness of it all. He doesn’t want to admit how much Trixie turned him into such a sap.

Trixie, on the other hand, appears to be completely at ease with everything, the giggling flirtations and the cheesy statements.  For some reason, this leaves Violet feeling shy. He was a teenager the last time he felt this like this. He isn’t sure if he wants to revel in it or to run away from it. But what he wants to know is if Trixie was feeling the same way.

“Trixie,” Violet calls him.

“Yeah, Vi?”

“About that night,” Violet begins with that uncharacteristic trepidation that has been a recurring theme for him when it comes to Trixie Mattel, “when you said that being with me—that you were getting over Katya…”

Trixie lets out a sigh and this makes Violet’s body go rigid.

“Violet— “

“Was it true?”

“What?” Trixie asks, confused, “Of course it was true.” The tension in Violet’s body dissipate. Trixie continues, “I know it isn’t—I mean, I didn’t want to tell you like that. I wasn’t sure if I was even going to—maybe. I don’t know,” Trixie sighs again, “Katya was right, in a way, it’s hard for me to separate the physical with the emotional and I ended up—I began falling for you. And I know it was just supposed to be this fun, casual kaikai thing but I—sorry —and you don’t have to do or feel anything! Violet, I just— “

“Trixie,” Violet interrupts, “Brian. I like you, I like you a lot. I mean, probably more than just like,” Violet is holding the phone with both hands, a giddy whir in his chest, “the feeling is mutual, I mean.”

“Oh,” Trixie responds. Violet can hear the smile in his voice and he reprimands himself for being so full of clichés.

“That first night we, you know,” Violet says, lowering his voice, “when you were drunk.”

“I wasn’t drunk,” Trixie responds immediately, and realizes that Violet has been thinking of that night in a certain way.

“What?”

“I wasn’t. I mean, maybe just a little tipsy, but I wasn’t drunk.” Trixie wanted to reassure Violet, to tell him that it was never a drunken mistake.

“You practically drank a whole bottle, bitch.”

Trixie laughs, “I’m from the rural Midwest, Violet, I haven’t drunk anything stronger than what comes out from the good ol’ corn mash my grandpa’s worked on from his backyard distillery.”

Violet is quiet for a while, his apprehensions about this whole thing with Trixie melting away one by one. He’s suddenly aware that wherever this is leading, he’s running out of reasons to _not_ go with it.

“My parents would never let me marry a redneck boy,” Violet says.

“Bitch!”

Violet recalls that first night they slept together. He remembers Trixie’s flirtatious advances that he has always chalked up to the alcohol. Thinking about it now, he realizes Trixie has been very much purposefully flirting with him the whole time. He feels embarrassed at his cluelessness of the situation.

Then there was Trixie’s wide, bright smile that never left his face. It’s the kind of boyish smile that Violet’s always liked on him. He recalls the memory of Trixie almost falling over himself and that sloppy smack on the lips Violet received, and he thinks about how he liked it, much to his surprise.

Then, a little later on, there was Trixie’s hurried tongue when they didn’t stop kissing. Violet remembers how Trixie looked like when he pushed him onto the bed: skin flushed and breathing heavily; his eyes were the clearest they have been the whole night and they were staring at Violet so wildly. He remembers sucking the skin on Trixie’s neck and the slight moan at the contact. Trixie was begging to be fucked.

Violet remembers how it felt like finally entering Trixie and how he pulled him close and locked their lips. He recalls how he couldn’t stop his hips from moving and how Trixie’s muffled moans were reverberating through his body.

He doesn’t realize that his hand had snaked itself past his underwear. He gasps slightly when he wraps his hand around his hard dick.

Trixie appears to have been listening intently, deciphering Violet’s actions when he heard his deepening breath and sharp intake of breath.

“Fuck,” Trixie groans, feeling sensations of his own stirring in between his legs, “I can’t believe I versed for you.”

“How does it feel?” Violet asks forcefully.

“Mm?” Trixie hummed, half-teasing and slightly shocked at the roughness in Violet’s voice.

“How does it feel like to fuck me?” Violet asks gruffly. He hears Trixie make a sound and knows that he’s started touching himself too.

“Fuck, it feels good, Vi. So fucking good.”

‘Yeah?” Violet said breathily, steadily stroking himself. “You like being inside me?”

“Yes. Oh god, Violet, I didn’t think that—fuck,” Trixie sounds desperate and this makes Violet move his hand even faster. “You feel so good Vi, you feel so fucking good.”

“I want to see you, Trixie, I want you to fuck me.”

On the other end of the line, Trixie makes strained noise. He likes what Violet said.

“Say my name again.”

“Trixie, please—Brian, fuck.”

“Do you like it when I fuck you?” Trixie’s voice becomes low.

Violet whimpers, too on turned on to oppose the shift in power. It wasn’t an odd development, it’s just how things usually go with them, a constant back and forth on who has the upper hand.

“Please, Brian—I’m going to— “

“Let me hear you Vi, I want to hear you. Don’t hold back.”

“Fuck, I’m cum—” Violet moans loudly in his orgasm. Thrusting into his hand as his warm semen spurts onto his stomach. Soon after, he listens as Trixie follows him, savoring the familiar sound of Trixie’s moans.

“Fuck.”

“Mhm.”

Exhausted, Violet sinks deeper in his bed and begins to drift off into sleep. He doesn’t put the phone down still, instead, clutching it preciously and keeping it pressed up to his ear. He lets the low static from the phone lull him to sleep.

Suddenly, he hears three sharp knocks on the door. He jumps and turns his head towards the other side of the room, heart beating loudly. It registers that the knock came from the other side of the call. He listens as Trixie shuffles out of bed and walk towards his door.

The illusion breaks for Violet. It dawns on him that he was wrong: Trixie isn’t at home in his room cozied up in bed like Violet had imagined. The quaint little scene in his mind vanishes. Trixie is probably in a hotel booked for him in some state. He’s probably in between gigs, still immersed in the real world, in _their_ world, that continues to exist around them even though Violet pretended to forget.

There can only be one person who is knocking on Trixie’s door at this time of the night.

“Is that Katya?” Violet asks. There is a crack in his voice that he doesn’t bother concealing.

“Yes,” Trixie answers. The knocking continues, louder this time, but Trixie ignores it. “It’s him.”

A sort of frustrated helplessness befalls Violet. He doesn’t know if he wants to shout or cry. 

“What do we—what do we do, Brian? What’s going to happen?”

“I don’t know,” Trixie tells him honestly, sounding sorry, sounding tired, too. The knocking on the door persists. “I’m sorry.” His low voice echoes slightly and that makes Violet think that Trixie is leaning his forehead against the door.

“I like you, Trixie” Violet tells him.

“I, too—I’m so sorry Violet,” Trixie answers.

The knocking on the door stops and Trixie still hasn’t opened the door. Violet wonders if Katya can hear Trixie, if he’s listening on from the other side. He wonders if Katya is pressing himself up against the door, too. He can see them both, from either side of that thin plank of wood, mirroring one another as they always do. Violet can imagine that scene clearly, it’s so real for him. Although, he remembers, he could be wrong about that, too.

“We might be going on a European tour,” Trixie says finally.

“How long will you be away?”

“Three months at most, I think,” Trixie’s tone changes, “Violet I want to see you.”

“You can see me,” he answers plainly.

“No, I mean like, _see_ you. But—I- I don’t know. Everything is so crazy right now and I don’t know what to do, what should I do?” Trixie sounds exhausted and overwhelmed and Violet wants to comfort him but how can he? It’s become apparent that Trixie is faced with a decision but both of them don’t even know what Trixie is deciding on. Starting a new relationship at the apex of their careers? The risk of letting yourself fall in love again? Dating another drag queen? Choosing between him or Katya?

“I don’t smoke,” was the only thing Violet could think of saying.

This makes Trixie laugh, a small chuckle, but enough to calm the both of them down.

“You should go,” Violet says, _Katya’s waiting_.

“Yeah,” Trixie responds, sounding like that wasn’t what he wanted to hear, “I should go,” he says even though he doesn’t want to. Still, Trixie ends the call.

Violet regrets it immediately. In his head, there was a sudden surge of things he wants to say. He wants to tell Trixie, he knows the answer! All the things that had baffled him completely about his feelings the past few months, he can see clearly now. Violet knows what he wants. The words that have evaded him were finally resting at the tip of his tongue: _I’m falling in love with you. I want to be with you. Let’s make it work. Stay with me. Don’t go._

But Violet doesn’t touch his phone again, he doesn’t move. He allows his exhaustion to drag him into unconsciousness.

_In his dreams, Violet is a ditsy blonde singer with bad luck in men and a soft spot for saxophone players. She meets a woman on train, the newest member of their all-female band, except he isn’t really a woman. He’s a man in a wig._

_“I’m hiding from the mob,” he tells her in secret, he’s witnessed a murder._

_Violet knows she should tell someone, he might be dangerous and he shouldn’t be in here with all the girls. But he plays her a song he swears he’s made for her and smiles a familiar bright smile that makes her stomach flip._

_It must be the sax, she thinks._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a really fun time writing this chapter, honestly, because when I think about how I planned this story in the beginning, everything has changed so much. Chapter 3 was when I started just doing things confidently my way in terms of storytelling and I'm glad to be writing this story the way I am. I'm extremely thankful for everyone who is reading this.
> 
> The last bit is an obvious reference to "Some Like It Hot".


	6. Here's Looking At You, Kid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This is the last chapter of the fic, I know it’s been a while but this is a massive chapter, the longest I’ve ever written. This is the first fanfic I’ve ever finished and I’m really thankful for everyone who spared some time to read this. Fun fact: this chapter was inspired by a 2015 interview of Violet where she says she loves clowns hahaha.
> 
> So yeah, this is the end. Thank you for reading!

When the mushrooms hit the pan, they jump slightly against the hot oil. A knee-jerk reaction, as instinctive as how any living being would react against a sudden change in temperature. Soon enough, the oil envelops the mushrooms in a shiny sheen and they sit sizzling comfortably in the pan.

 _Huh, they look like they’re in a Jacuzzi,_ he thinks. _Damn, I want to sit in a Jacuzzi._

A projectile of oil hits Violet on the chest and he flinches. It’s too goddamn early for this shit—what the hell was he doing, anyway? Apparently cooking mushrooms half-asleep, almost completely dissociating from reality. He moves the them around the pan; at least they’re starting to smell good.

“What are you doing?”

Violet turns around and sees Trixie standing by the kitchen doorway, watching him with a bemused expression on his face.

“What does it look like?” Violet asks sarcastically.

“Why are you shirtless?” Trixie retorts.

“Uh,” Violet suddenly feels sheepish. He would’ve worn a shirt if he knew that the oil would be so… jumpy. But the plan had been that Trixie would walk in to the sight of him a fully domesticated gent: easily whipping up breakfast for the both of them and looking sexy while doing so. That seems to be completely ridiculous now.

“Violet Chachki, you’re so smart,” Trixie starts, walking over to Violet and looking like he can guess what Violet was thinking, “how can you be stupid sometimes?”

Violet groans his objection but knows that he _was_ being stupid—something that’s been a common theme the past few days. His wit is something that he’s always been proud of and he’s never realized how much of an idiot he can be until… well, until this thing with Trixie began.

“You were making me breakfast?” Trixie asks, that smile again on his face.

“Yes,” he admits.

“Cute,” Trixie comments and leans in for a kiss. Violet accepts the motion begrudgingly and responds slowly and softly, as most morning kisses with Trixie go.

Mid-kiss, Trixie reaches over and turns off the stove behind Violet— just in time to save the mushrooms from burning.

 

Breakfast ends up being surprisingly good with the mushrooms complementing the toasted baguette that Violet bought the other day. They eat in silence in the living room because, despite his attempts, Violet can still only barely function in the morning. Trixie doesn’t mind and happily eats the breakfast that was made for him. In an idle haze, something catches Violet’s eye.

“Oh hey!” he exclaims without warning, standing up suddenly and walking over to the shelf near the TV, “I have something like this, too.” He picks up a figurine he hasn’t noticed before. It takes him back to those pre-Drag Race, obsessively collecting tchotchkes and letting them pile up in his room. It was a habit that has significantly diminished over the years with the amount of travelling he goes through but he still has a soft spot for cute little trinkets like this. And Trixie has a really nice one, he thinks: it’s some kind of bootleg Betty Boop memorabilia that’s black and white (like how you would see her in those old cartoons) except for a tiny dot of red where her lips should be. By the looks of it, it could have been a later modification to the doll. Violet spots a familiar smudge at the back of Betty’s head. _Wait a minute._ He eyes Trixie suspiciously who, in turn, has focused his gaze completely on his plate.

“Is this mine?” Violet asks, lifting the tiny figurine.

Trixie slowly looks up at Violet and nods shyly.

“You klepto!” Violet shouts incredulously, “I knew you used to be dirt poor but damn, bitch.”

“Come on Violet, you have so many junk in your house,” Trixie reasons. Violet glares at him. “Fine, _tchotchkes_. That one is so cute, though, let me keep that one.”

“I know it’s cute, that’s why I got it.”

“You’re such a hoarder,” Trixie squints his eyes, “and a selfish one at that.”

“I’m taking this home, bitch.”

“Violet!” Trixie whines.

Violet sticks his tongue out at Trixie and he wonders how is it that they’re the gayest boys in the planet right now, fighting over dolls.

Trixie huffs, not saying anything more, although the glint in his eyes says that he hasn’t given up completely. Violet is sure that he’s going to bring this up again later.

“Come back here and eat something, you skinny bitch,” Trixie calls Violet.

Violet sits back down the although he actually has already cleared his plate. He watches Trixie eat.

“You like it?” Violet asks, a funny feeling in his stomach watching someone eat food he has made. These sudden shifts in mood can’t be good for him.

Trixie chuckles, a boyish chuckle as he always does when he isn’t screaming his laughter out.

“Yeah, actually, it’s pretty good.”

Violet regrets asking because he can feel himself flare up at the compliment.

“Cute,” Trixie comments again.

He scowls at the word but his childish reaction makes Trixie find him even more adorable. Violet can tell and this annoys him.

“You like me too much,” he says, as if with disdain.

“Maybe,” Trixie responds easily, smiling. At this point, Violet thinks that Trixie knows of his fixation with that smile and is probably doing all of this on purpose.

Violet stands up, huffing.

“Aw, don’t be mad,” Trixie attempts to sound apologetic but laughter escapes his lips.

In truth, he just needs to use the bathroom but he still leaves scowling.

In front of the mirror, he splashes cold water on his face although all traces of sleepiness have long since disappeared. He catches himself with a big, goofy, grin on his face. He’s so happy that it makes him nervous. Everything was making him nervous: waking up early to cook breakfast, play-fighting over stupid things, spending the last two days in Trixie’s bed watching old movies and having sex. It’s so normal, that it isn’t normal. He can already feel his days with Trixie jutting out from the narrative of his life like it’s an anomaly, as if his real life has taken break so he can coop up in this world. Like it exists in a vacuum separate from all the other elements of his reality.

Violet doesn’t notice immediately that he is still holding on to Betty Boop. He should let Trixie keep it, he thinks, he isn’t particularly attached to it. He looks at the figurine, handling it preciously, and suddenly feels, immensely, that he doesn’t want to part with it.

“You’ll be lonely, won’t you?” Violet asks the figurine. He shakes his head, _I’ve lost it, officially._ But as soon as he leaves the bathroom, he hides Betty Boop safely in his bag.

 

Trixie is already washing the dishes when Violet returns to the living room, arousing a slight feeling of guilt in him. He didn’t notice how long he was gone. He walks over to Trixie and snakes his arms around his waist from behind. He rests his head on Trixie’s shoulder and Trixie leans back slightly at the contact, understanding the apology in his actions. Violet hums contentedly, finding comfort in Trixie’s warmth.

“What do you want to do today?” Trixie asks, almost done rinsing.

Violet doesn’t know what to do although he should because he was the one who promised Trixie a perfect date during last night’s post-coital haze. He’s sure he doesn’t want to stay inside again—the thought makes him nervous. If he spends another day in bed with Trixie, he feels like he’s never going to want to get up again. But he doesn’t have a next step after breakfast. Should they go to the beach? To a park? Watch a show? There’s a million things they can do but Violet can only think to stall.

“Let’s get ice cream,” he says, muffled against Trixie’s shoulder.

“It’s cold,” Trixie chuckles.

“Mmm ice cream,” Violet hums.

“Okay, okay, get dressed,” Trixie concedes after he turns off the faucet.

                                                  

Trixie finds it amusing that Violet likes strawberries. He likes it too, but mostly for aesthetic reasons. The fruit incites ideas of a strawberry shortcake pink, looking like the kind of perfect dress to put on a princess. Sweet, simple and cute, a luxury he can only have dreamed of in the past, his life having always been the plagued by nuances of psychosexual trauma, and all that Freudian brouhaha.  On the other hand, conceptually, Violet’s strawberries are very sensual, covered in chocolate. The kind of strawberries carved by medieval stone masons not to symbolize love, but perfection.

“What?” Violet asks him, ice cream on his lips, irritated at having been distracted from his concentration.

They’re on the streets walking with an ice cream cone each and Trixie realizes he’s been staring at Violet and just smiles at him. Violet grunts and goes back to whatever it is that he’s engrossed in his head. Trixie doesn’t take offense to this, used to the morning crankiness.

They almost bump into trashcan when a large group of tourists pass them by. Trixie is suddenly aware of the of the mass of individuals around them. _Since when were there so many people?_ He feels conscious of his body parts and realizes that he and Violet have been holding hands—he doesn’t know when they started. It’s almost instinctive: they’ve been together, practically isolated, for the past days, and it seemed odd to separate now.

But all at once, Trixie feels on edge, tense as soon as he perceives their contact. A crowd of teenagers pass them by and he wonders if they can recognize him, then chastises himself for his vanity. He turns to Violet but he’s still preoccupied with his own thoughts. Soon after, a couple of young boys are in their path, holding hands too. Usually a welcome sight for Trixie, this time, he shrinks away. The two is closer to his and Violet’s demographic. They haven’t been in public together like this before: out of drag in broad daylight.

 _I’m being ridiculous,_ Trixie thinks just as they are about to clear the couple, who hasn’t even looked at them but at the last second, their eyes light up in recognition. Trixie’s hand loosens its grip and begins to drop to his side. Violet makes up for this immediately and pulls Trixie’s hand abruptly, causing him to lean slightly against him.

“Don’t let go, idiot,” Violet whispers harshly and somehow, affectionately.

For Trixie, the agitation vanishes, everyone else disappears, and the whole scene is just theirs again.

 

The burden of planning the rest of the date turns out to be a non-issue when Violet’s manager calls him out of the blue to announce to that there’s a meeting for him scheduled today.

“What?” Violet growls on the phone, “didn’t I tell you to keep today— I’m busy you—I made plans—can’t you—yeah, no—” Violet looks at Trixie apologetically. Trixie shrugs nonchalantly and plays with Violet’s fingers in between his own. He wants to study it now, confused at how his hand seeks out Violet’s unconsciously.

“I’m so sorry,” Violet starts when the call ends, “I don’t know why they’re being such—ugh. I have to go there. I’ll be quick, I’ll get back to you soon.”

Trixie looks at their fingers contemplatively. He’s still preoccupied by the physics of it: by the weight of their bones, the friction between their skin, the static of it all. They haven’t separated for days and he doesn’t want to start now.

“I’ll come with,” Trixie says plainly.

Violet wants to protest, already feeling regretful at not being able to keep his promise. But when he looks at Trixie looking at their hands he realizes that he doesn’t want to let go of Trixie’s hand, too.

 _This is so stupid,_ he thinks, _we’re acting like kids._

“People will see us,” Violet warns, and by people he means people they actually _know_ this time, not just some random twinks on the street. He means their co-workers, their friends.

Trixie looks up at Violet and bites his lip.

“Let them see,” he declares.

So they do, walking in the PEG building hand in hand. The lobby is sparse when they arrive and the both of them have yet to encounter anyone they know; although those who recognize them are looking at them questioningly (and anyone who has heard of that infamous night is looking at them intriguingly.) Trixie wonders if this is something he has to get used to.

Despite being determined not to let go, they eventually have to when Violet’s manager rushes him off to a meeting room in a frenzied rush of pleading and apologizing. Trixie is left in the middle of lobby, curling and uncurling his hand, aware of the odd sensation left by the emptiness of it. Maybe _this_ is what he has to get used to.

Out of boredom, Trixie starts wandering about in the building. This isn’t his agency so he figures he’d just see how far he can go without anyone stopping to question his presence. Surprisingly, no one does. He forgets which floor he’s on, walking through similarly designed hallways. Behind one door, he’s sure that he can hear Manila Luzon’s song playing. He has the sudden urge to open the door but he stops himself from barging in. He walks back to the elevator landing and sees a figure hunched over a coffee table.

“Yes you, why don’t you come over here my dearie.”

Trixie recognizes Jinkx’ voice and walks over. She’s in her casual clothes, wearing a sweater with the hood pulled over her head. Her hands are hovering over a small decorative plant on the table.

“Hey Jinkx,” Trixie greeted merrily, sitting across the table. He’s happy he has someone to talk to.

“That’s Madame Monsoon to you,” she scolded, her voice pitched higher but breaking like a witch’s. “Do you want me to tell you your fortune?

“Jinkx,” he rolls his eyes, “you know I hate it when you call me over then ignore me just so I can watch you perform.” But he holds out his palm to Jinkx anyway.

“This is not a performance!” Jinkx declares and smacks Trixie’s hand away, “and I don’t need that.”

Then from inside her shirt, she produces a deck of tarot cards. Trixie’s mouth falls open.

“How the hell?” he asks in amazement.

As always, Jinkx only allows herself to break character with a wink. She begins her ritual, nothing that Trixie isn’t already familiar with. The deck is shuffled and cut, and a hand chooses three cards. The first card is flipped over and it isn’t a type of card that Trixie recognizes. In the middle of a familiar shade of pink is a box, the kind that holds presents, wrapped up in a neat bow.

“Wait a minute,” Trixie says squinting at the image suspiciously.

“The box,” Jinkx says with a gasp, “it means surprises are coming your way.”

“Are these Drag Race-themed tarot cards?”

“Halleloo,” Jinkx replies solemnly. She flips the card in the middle. This time, it was a cocktail, not too different from the one served during Untucked.

“Bitch, where did you get these?” Trixie reaches for the cards but is smacked away again by Jinkx.

“The cocktail,” she says, a scolding eye on Trixie, “somebody will get hurt, it means.”

Trixie leans back on the chair and contemplates on the fortune but he doesn’t allow himself to think too deeply. Instead, he focuses on the window behind Jinkx, almost blinding with the midday sun shining through, he can barely see what’s outside. He tries not to think of the reason why he ended up here. _Here?_ What does that even mean? Physically, here he is in this building of the agency that’s been continuously courting him to join them on the dark side. Mentally, he’s nowhere: he’s on the window, he’s past it—basking in the sun. Emotionally…

Jinkx clears her throat to call his attention, the last card already upturned. On the card is a pair of hands, too long and bony, wearing fingerless leather gloves, palms facing away. Trixie identifies the reference immediately, he can hear the piece already.

“So, what does this mean?” Trixie asks although he can already guess it.

“You have to make a _choice_ soon.”

Trixie wonders there’s an order to these cards. Maybe she got it wrong because it’s more logical to make a choice and then someone will get hurt. But then maybe somebody gets hurt _that’s_ _why_ a decision has to be made. He’s thinking about it analytically—as if it’s an equation that he isn’t a part of, as something separate from him. Maybe it’s a good idea to leave now, to find Violet. He stands up, ready to thank Madame Monsoon for her service, but Jinkx suddenly pulls out a fourth card from the deck and hands it to Trixie. He turns it over warily. It makes him stop.

On it is a woman of a large build, an Amazonian, almost spanning the full length of the card. She’s rendered beautifully with curves so perfect and hair so long and blonde that it arouses suspicion, the kind that people would feel when they encounter drag queens. And it does seem to be the perfect drag queen—except for the face. The face is painted a classic clown face with the whites in the eyes and overdrawn lips. It so obviously resembles Trixie that he doesn’t see it straight away.

“The Giant Woman” Trixie reads slowly, admiring the craftsmanship of the card, and he can’t help but feel flattered at how beautifully it was made. “What does it mean?”

Jinkx smiles and nods at Trixie affectionately and he knows that she isn’t in-character anymore.

“It means the answer is love.”

The elevator dings before Trixie can respond. A panicking Violet emerges and upon seeing Trixie, rushes over to him, interlocking their fingers swiftly.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Violet is relieved, he thought that Trixie had left. “You’re not answering your calls.”

“Oh, I left my phone I guess,” Trixie says distractedly. He points to the coffee table set-up “Sorry Vi, I was with Jinkx.”

They both turn their heads at the same time and see that there is no one there—even the potted plant is nowhere to be found.

“Did she fly off to the moon?” Violet teases after catching his breath.

“No seriously—” Trixie cuts himself off. Violet isn’t going to believe him judging by the mocking look on his face. This would be annoying to Trixie if he wasn’t so happy to see that face. He’s missed it already. He leans forward for a kiss and Violet meets him halfway. When they pull apart, Trixie sees him with a ridiculous smile on his face that if other people see, could probably destroy Violet Chachki’s reputation. He leads them back into the elevator and inside, he leans his forehead on Violet’s shoulder.

“Let’s go home,” Trixie tells him.

“What about the date?” Violet asks, confused.

“I’d rather stay in.”

“For the third day straight?” But Violet is honestly relieved, already used to being closer to Trixie than they are allowed to be in public.

“Mhm,” Trixie nods against Violet’s shoulder.

“Okay,” he replies happily.

The elevator doors open to the ground floor and Trixie doesn’t move from his position. On the other side stands Michelle Visage and Alaska. They look surprised, seeming to have stopped in the middle of a conversation. Violet watches them uncomfortably. Their expressions change to amusement and from Alaska, a hint of understanding. Violet nudges Trixie lightly.

“Oh- um, hi,” Trixie greets them when he processes the scene.  “Bye!” he adds before they can respond. He pulls on Violet’s hand and runs. Baffled by the action, Violet goes along with it. Halfway across the lobby, they begin to laugh, still running as fast as they can while holding hands.

 _So stupid, this is so stupid_ , Trixie thinks, but he feels elated, rapturous, like a kid in the forest the way he used to be. This stirs up false memories in his head: of that movie moment when you’re a teenager and you’re unapologetically yourself and unapologetically in love. He’s never had that. _Don’t You Forget About Me_ is playing in the other room.

They lose steam after a couple of blocks down the street and they slow down, continuing to walk side by side, hand in hand, trying to catch their breath.

“You’re insane,” Violet tells him, laughter still in his voice.

There’s an _Oh honey_ joke in there somewhere but Trixie doesn’t say it because he doesn’t want to ruin the moment. He pulls Violet swiftly into a kiss and feels him gasp slightly but respond at once. There they are in the middle of the street, for all the world to see. Trixie thinks he hears a camera phone shutter but it doesn’t matter, he decides, _nobody else matters._ Also, he’s feeling very horny. He relays this to Violet who suddenly regains his energy. This time, he’s the one dragging Trixie, rushing home.

    

They go through the motions of being together once more, as they have been doing the past few days. But this time it feels different, somehow. Not obviously—like the difference between a room full of air and the room that’s a vacuum. It feels like the oxygen has been completely sucked out between the four pink walls of the room. They’re both holding their breaths, hearts beating like hammers, waiting for something to happen. Their kisses are hurried and careful, calm and foreboding. Like teasing drumrolls, the friction between their skin prophesize a completion, a denouement, or maybe a punchline.

Violet wonders if Trixie can feel it too, the tiny forest that he’s been foraging inside him, for days or months or years. As if the foliage is finally about to break through his skin.

“Hey, hey what’s wrong?” Trixie asks, carefully lifting himself out of Violet, “Does it hurt?”

Violet wipes the tears that haven’t quite fallen yet on his forearm. On all fours, “I want to look at you,” he says.

“Come here, turn around” Trixie instructs. Violet does and wraps his arm around Trixie’s neck who kisses him steady, still alarmed at his tears. Trixie can’t recall a time that he’s seen him like that. He doesn’t offer an explanation, however, although Trixie can imagine the reason. It rests uneasily in his stomach.

Violet giggles without warning and Trixie wonders for a second if he’s gone insane.

“We’re here again,” he says and Trixie understands it immediately, realizing that they’re right where they started, but not exactly—they’ve switched places, a reversal, and maybe the implication of that isn’t as funny as Violet seems to think it is.

But if anything, they’re both hopelessly in love now.

When they continue, they’re still in the vacuum and the forest is slowly being uprooted from Violet’s skin. He sees stars behind his eyelids every time Trixie thrusts inside him. The scene from Casablanca invades his head and Humphrey Bogart is telling him _We’ll always have Pa—_ he forces the thought away.

“If you say you want to look at me, then _look_ at me,” Trixie tells him roughly.

So Violet does. He stares at Trixie, tries to memorize his face, wondering if he has missed anything from the lasr three years he’s been looking at Trixie. On the other hand, Trixie is looking at Violet like he’s brand new, as if he’s freshly-made; and Trixie has never touched something so flawless and pristine.

As they climax, the air begins to seep back into the room, the oxygen filling their lungs, the blood is allowed to circulate again. At the same time, Violet feels like he’s found the answer—to what question, he isn’t sure exactly. Trixie collapses on top of him and Violet can feel the full length of Trixie’s body: his heart beating against his chest, his legs tangling with his, and his breath tickling his neck. Their body heat attempts to balance each other out, striving to reach an equilibrium.

Violet thinks that maybe the answer is to the question of where he wants to be for the rest of his life.

Then it was time for Trixie to go.

 

In the car ride to the airport, they don’t talk. Violet sees Trixie’s empty hand innocently resting in between them. Oddly enough, he can’t even reach out to grab it when earlier it was nearly impossible to let go. Violet can feel the weight of the luggage in the trunk as if he’s the one carrying it, he can feel it change everything.

 

> _“Clear your schedule,” Violet says as soon as Trixie opens the door._
> 
> _“Violet? What are you doing here?” Trixie asks, incredulous, he hasn’t seen Violet for weeks._
> 
> _“I wanted to see you,” he answers nervously, bravado waning._
> 
> _“Violet, I’m not processing what’s happening right now. What do you want?”_
> 
> _The way that Trixie is looking at Violet makes him think that Trixie did understand exactly what is happening and he’s waiting for him to say words—certain words. Violet is careful._
> 
> _“You leave Sunday, right? It’s Friday, clear your schedule. Spend your last days with me.”_
> 
> _Trixie bites his lip and Violet is beginning to feel stupid. As for romantic gestures, this was looking to be crashing and burning. What the hell was he thinking showing up unannounced? He should have arrived with an apology and flowers or chocolates or something, not an overnight bag. The slight afternoon breeze makes Violet shudder. He’s close to taking it all back, he’s about to bolt;_ fine, whatever, never mind, bitch.
> 
> _Then Trixie smiles that familiar smile, and obviously, of course this stupid thing that Violet is doing_ is translating _as a romantic to Trixie._
> 
> _“I have to make a lot of phone calls,” he says before letting Violet in._

Sixty hours later, they’re inside an Uber in dead silence, the airport already coming into view. Violet is too afraid to hold Trixie’s hand but both are painfully aware of the spaces between their fingers.

Something in Violet clicks then, and he realizes he’s so stupid. He rummages his bag for the Betty Boop figurine he pocketed earlier.

“You keep this because it reminded you of me, right?” he says in rush, kicking himself for wasting time.

Trixie rolls his eyes, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Which it was, but Violet didn’t realize sooner, too caught up in his own impending loneliness to think about how Trixie will probably miss him, too.

“Bring it, don’t—” Violet hands the figurine to Trixie who holds it preciously, “don’t leave it at home, it’ll be lonely.”

“What about you?” Trixie asks after a few moments.

Violet shrugs but he reaches out and holds Trixie’s hand finally. The grip is a little tighter than before, but not tight enough yet. 

> _“Do you really have to go?” Violet asks on their second night together since he showed up unexpectedly on Trixie’s door. He feels like he’s floating in that moment, stewing in a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction._
> 
> _“I need to leave before the public lynching begins,” Trixie replies, “and yes, that is an All Stars 3 spoiler.”_
> 
> _“Biiiitch,” Violet groans against the pillow. He rolls back onto his side and catches Trixie looking at him, the same way he’s been looking at him since he told him to clear his schedule. He’s waiting for Violet to say something, say some magic words so that instead, there’s a flight to be missed. Then there’ll be a tour to cancel, and a whole mess of that to clean up._
> 
> _“Let’s get out tomorrow,” he says instead, “I’ll take you on a perfect date. All the romantic shit you want.”_
> 
> _Trixie falters for a second but accepts the proposition. Violet focuses his thoughts on what he can make for breakfast._

They spot Katya as soon as they unload the trunk of Trixie’s suitcases. He’s surrounded by a gaggle of teenagers and he’s signing autographs for them but is politely declining pictures. When the crowd thins out, Katya sees Violet who waves first, awkwardly but purposefully. Katya purses his lips then breaks out into a wide smile and waves back enthusiastically. Violet takes it even though it’s probably mostly for Trixie.

Trixie and Violet look at each other and for the last time, Trixie is giving him a chance. And the syllable is already on the tip of his tongue, the S almost slipping. He’s said everything else to Trixie—even the L word—but he just can’t ask him to stay. This time, Violet knows that the reason is not fear nor even the sheer logistical nightmare of cancelling a big tour at the last minute. The reason is the one idly waiting in Violet’s peripheral vision.

“Trixie, we’ll be late!” Katya shouts, not unkindly, because he never is. Also, they really are going to be late.

So much for cinematic goodbyes, Trixie and Violet only hug each other before separating. Their dramatic gusto dampened by the crowded airport. Violet watches him walk away and Trixie turns around to wave goodbye one more time before getting caught up again in Katya’s whirlwind of thoughts. Long after they’re gone from view, although virtually impossible, Violet swears he could hear their laughter echoing.

“This sucks,” Violet tells no one in particular. He feels something sticking out of his pocket and pulls it out. It’s a tarot card of a beautiful birthday clown. He smiles, _where the hell did she get this?_ Violet is sure there’s something written at the back, if Trixie’s is to continue his cheesy romantic streak. _Fuck._ He doesn’t want to read it, not yet.

“You’re an idiot,” Pearl tells him, materializing behind him suddenly, “A stupid idiot.”

“Oh,” Violet looks at him up and down, “looks like my Uber is here.”

“Shut up, bitch, I’m here to pick your sorry ass up,” Pearl replies, the concern in his voice is faint, but definite. So Violet lets him.

Violet watches the planes from the car window and allows himself to be Humphrey Bogart. Trixie is Ingrid Bergman who left him at the and he’s just lost the love of his life but it’s okay because they’ll _always have Paris_. He wants to descend into that narrative because he doesn’t want to think about his real heart breaking at the very moment. He’s trying to imagine Katya is Paul Henreid but all he can think is that _Katya, you better get your shit together. Three months—you have three months to do the right thing. Whatever the hell that is._

> _“How can it not be when I’m in love with you?” the words escape Katya’s lips suddenly, without context. The first half of that thought lost in his head. Trixie doesn’t hear it, caught up in her own flurry of words at the moment. But Violet does, and he finds it the cruelest of ironies that he’s the really only one listening to every word of this conversation. He’s the only one who understands what’s going on, the kind of shift that’s happening between the two of them._
> 
> _He can guess what Katya was thinking, what prompted the words, and what he’s feeling because he knows what it’s like to be in love with Trixie Mattel._

Sometimes, you encounter things that are much more momentous than yourself.           

 _“I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship_ ,” Violet says out loud, quoting the last line of the movie, the last he watched with Trixie, the curtains closing on the false narrative.

Pearl looks at him like he’s crazy, but then he sees the tears on Violet’s face. He recognizes the film and tries to dig up whatever knowledge he could possibly possess about Casablanca.

“Tracy is an idiot, too,” he says, giving up on the farce and saying the only thing he can say, “a goddamn idiot.”

Violet smiles at him. Trixie Mattel _is_ an idiot, he thinks, _but I hope he’s not stupid enough to think that I won’t wait._

 

End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone again for having read this far, more than anything, my readers (no matter how casual or imaginary) and those who gave feedback, are the main source of motivation to continue this fic. Other things that inspired me on this fic: Phonogram, The Inverted Forest (Salinger), Steven Universe, Casablanca (obviously), Haruki Murakami’s ear fetish, and Albert Camus’ Sisyphus.
> 
> Thank you also to my girlfriend for discussing with me the whole philosophy of this piece hahahaha. Everything I write is to make you laugh or cry.
> 
> If you want to know what I think, I think Violet’s an idiot. But really, the three of them are. But what else can result from living in a computer simulation? 
> 
> Also, do you guys want to hit me up? How can I let you guys hit me up?
> 
> I don’t think I’ll write a fanfic this long again. But I will write.
> 
> Thank you very much.


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